


professional

by ferrassie



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Established Relationship, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 22:18:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6876073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferrassie/pseuds/ferrassie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He still needs the support.</p>
<p>And Alex is there—standing just at the edge of the kitchen, shy of its light, after William lets himself in. His pyjamas are slung low on his hips. “What did you do, Bill?” he asks, fond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	professional

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thermocline](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thermocline/gifts).



> hi, srp! thank you for your amazing prompts--i had a great time writing for you! i ended up taking the spy au+slice of life+clothes-sharing route because YES. it's a little less fluffy than i thought it would end up being, but i hope you enjoy it regardless! :)
> 
> **warnings** one character sustains a minor injury that is touched on throughout the fic. if there's anything else you believe needs to be warned for that i have overlooked, please let me know! you can leave me a comment here or reach me at my [tumblr](http://ferrassie.tumblr.com).

The pain is a constant ache, blunting all other feeling. He cradles his hand against his chest, holding his wrist straight and still with the other. William can’t make out any debris, but that doesn’t mean that there isn’t any among the clotted blood. He focuses on putting one foot in front of the other, hugging the shadows as he does, and getting home. 

Hot water and the promise of sleep. 

The hair at the back of his neck is matted with sweat, having fallen out of its braid sometime between being made and losing his mark in the chase. Torts’ didn’t think such an assignment would need their entire unit and gave Matty and Josh the night off. He sucks a breath in through his teeth, thinking back on the easy way his mark dodged his punch, and the feeling of brick beneath his knuckles. 

He still needs the support.

And Alex is there—standing just at the edge of the kitchen, shy of its light, after William lets himself in. His pyjamas are slung low on his hips. “What did you do, Bill?” he asks, fond.

-

Alex’s skin is sleep-warm where it’s pressed along his. Sitting knee-to-knee in the bathroom. He’s careful with the antiseptic as he cleans William’s wounds, holding his wrist steady. There’s more clean-up than he expected, but that’s always the way. Alex makes quick work of washing and bandaging, gauze secured under a thick tensor. He places it back in William’s lap.

“You’re gonna have to call in,” Alex says.

William looks down at his lap. “I really fucked up.”

Alex leans back and wipes his hands on the back of his thighs. “It happens. I fucked up a lot in my first year, too, but it’s better just to get it over with.”

“Couldn’t have screwed up that bad if you’re assigned to a unit with Saader and Olli.” William shakes his head. His neck twinges. “Sorry, that’s not fair.”

Alex gives him a hard look and William can see the tension in his forearms, veins obvious. He relaxes just as quickly and schools his face into something softer, younger. He reaches out, resting his hand on William’s thigh, and brings the other one up to cup his cheek. Thumb catching on the cracked corner of his lip. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment. “Call in,” he says, finally, voice rough. “And then we’ll clean up the rest of you.”

William nods. “Okay.”

Alex kisses that same corner of his mouth, caught under his thumb, and says, “Okay.”

-

Calling into C.B.J. always reminds William of being relocated. _Your file’s being transferred to Anaheim, Norfolk, Anaheim, Norfolk, Columbus, Springfield_. Columbus. His palms sweat as he’s routed by C.B.J. dispatch through to Torts, worrying at the fresh edge of the bandage. He feels like he’s holding his breath the entire conversation—a weight, heavy, on his chest.

It’s not as bad as he built it up to be. He gets the following day off and early-morning recon the day after. There’s shouting, but that’s just the volume Torts works at.

His hands feel clammy, even with his phone tucked back into his pocket.

-

“Shower?” Alex asks. He gives William the once-over. “Shower.”

William nods and follows Alex into the bathroom. He pulls off his shirt and lets it drop to the floor, adding to the blood- and dirt-stained sweater and socks already there. Alex spins him by the shoulders and starts on his hair—pulling the elastic and undoing the braid’s twists. It hurts, little sparks of pain, as Alex starts passing a brush through his hair. Knots catching and coming loose.

“Shit,” William hisses, when Alex brushes out the hair at the nape of his neck. Alex makes a _hmm_ noise, but doesn’t stop.

“You were pretty nervous out there, huh?” Alex says. He drops the brush on the sink and crosses William to get at the shower. 

William shrugs, tugging at his belt. He fumbles with the buckle. “I guess.”

The shower squeaks to life, water drumming against the basin of the tub. “Bill—I was terrified on my first solo assignment. It’s scary.”

“It’s fucking scary,” he says, a little laugh in his voice. “And when he made me, fuck. I couldn’t even move. Matty would have kicked me right into action, if he was there.” William shakes his head, clearing the memory of one-too-many nights stuck in the back of a dark car—Matty and Hartsy in the front seats. Foligs manning dispatch, embellishing his transmissions. “I don’t know what happened.”

“Worry about it later. Water’s nice and hot.”

Alex’s pyjamas are already on the floor.

-

He falls asleep with Alex’s hand in his hair, combing out the wet tangles. He’s so tired he doesn’t even dream—wakes up once to Alex’s soft snoring and his arm thrown across William’s waist. They soothe him back into sleep and, when he wakes up again, the room is murky with the overcast weather outside. Alex’s face is buried in William’s neck.

He’s awake.

Alex doesn’t lift his head. “Coffee?” he asks.

“You telling or volunteering?” William asks, shifting closer to Alex and letting the bed take his full weight. He feels bruised all over, hand throbbing when he thinks about it. 

Alex sighs into his neck. “Volunteering. We’ll check your hand out after?”

William nods. “Yeah, that’d be good.” 

Alex rolls out of his hold, dropping a kiss to his shoulder, before getting out of bed. He stretches his arms above his head—a series of scrapes and fading bruises moving with him. He had a two week-long assignment out on the west coast, tracking a double-agent through California and up into British Columbia. The marks break up planes of tan skin. 

He’s going to have to finish his report after recon tomorrow, reliving each moment again as he writes. It’s been a tough couple of weeks—something going wrong with nearly every one of C.B.J.’s missions. Alex is recovering from his own injuries and making up for his own shortcomings. It’s good, though, to have him. Someone who’s not just team, but family.

“Coffee’s ready!” coming from down the hall.

-

There’s a full cup sitting on the counter, steaming blooming above its lip. Laced with sugar and cinnamon. Alex is facing the stove but the set of his shoulders, straight and relaxed, gives his mood away. Hands clouded with flour and the _plett_ pan is warming over a burner. William can smell the faintest whiff of lingonberry. _Caretaker_ , William thinks.

Alex makes _plättar_ the morning after he finishes an assignment, even botched ones. He’s started making them for William, too. Stacks of pancakes filled with cream and jam—they’re pretty much the only thing Alex can cook. Closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“That mine?” Alex asks, startling William from his thoughts. He’s gesturing at William’s shirt.

It’s thin and well-worn, a little loose around the neck. It’s from Alex’s time at the academy— _2014_ wrapping around his bicep. That was a good year for Alex.

William tends to think about the years before and the years after—it’s easier.

“Yeah,” he says. “You dressed me, remember?”

Alex mouth curls up at the corner, fixing William with a smirk. “I like being reminded.”

“Reminded of what?” William asks, taking the plate Alex hands him. It feels warm to the touch and the smell of cinnamon is strong, wafting from the _plättar_. He fumbles with the fork and knife Alex set out at his left.

“Of my accomplishments.”

-

Alex is careful unwrapping his hand, pulling the gauze away from William’s knuckles. They look a little rough, scraped from the brick, but the healing’s started. Alex lets out a long breath and William gives him an assured smile. He tapes his knuckles up this time, pressing his thumb to the center of William’s palm. A kind of steadying pressure.

“You’re going to get better at this,” Alex says, brushing his other hand through William’s hair. “It’s not so bad, being alone in the field.”

William tips his head back. 

“We’ll always be there when you need it,” he says. Hand stopping on the gentle curve of William’s jaw. He looks at William, eyes faraway and soft, and kisses him with his taped hand held tightly in his own.

Alex will be there.


End file.
